


Waiting (No More)

by katajainen



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Smut, Dirty Talk, Durincest, First Time, M/M, Not enough plot to fill a thimble, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Siege of Erebor, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 13:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: I step through a doorless archway and follow your trail through the debris of lifeless rooms, until my feet seize in place, and I’m left standing on the threshold, held captive by the sight of you.





	Waiting (No More)

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompted Fíli/Kíli and prompt number 9 from [this list](https://katajainen.tumblr.com/post/165547868721/fifty-i-found-you-otp-prompts):  
>  **I found you… hand buried inside of your underwear, my name whimpered on your lips.**
> 
> Contains pretty much what it says on the tin.
> 
> Thanks once again to [saraste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/) for the beta!

Yeah let’s do something crazy,  
something absolutely wrong  
while we’re waiting  
for the miracle, for the miracle to come.

-Leonard Cohen: 'Waiting for the Miracle'

* * *

 My footsteps echo in the vast emptiness of halls and corridors, in passages meant for the crowds of a living kingdom, overlarge for our small company. Yet here we are, and we have taken back what is ours, if only for a time. For I don’t have enough heart to share in the defiance of my uncle and King. I see the armies camped on our doorstep, and I fear we are about to become like a candle flame snuffed out at its first flaring.

But I’m wise enough to keep my silence, except– except for the one who would understand. You would understand me without a word spoken, if only I could find your hideout in the twists and turns of this kingdom of stone and shadow.

I understand why you would seek solitude. While our Company has grown to be more than its contract and name, a kinship bound by more than shared blood, this past week has not been easy on our tempers. I think you’re growing up at long last, my little brother, to have enough sense to go blow off steam on your own rather than pick a fight for little reason.

I think I hear something and hurry my steps. For all that we have explored our reclaimed Mountain together, there’s a myriad of places you might be, and any fresh lead is better than much-scuffed footprints in the dust. I hear it again, and it’s almost a word, the low whisper certainly your voice. I step through a doorless archway and follow your trail through the debris of lifeless rooms, until my feet seize in place, and I’m left standing on the threshold, held captive by the sight of you.

You sprawl on a low stone bench at the back of the room, your head tilted back against the wall behind you. Your eyes are closed, your breath coming in shallow gasps between parted lips. Your coat of mail hangs open and unfastened about you, and beneath your bunched-up shirt I can see a sliver of bare skin, adorned by a trail of dark hair leading down.

The head of your cock is glistening red as it’s obscured and revealed in turn by the movement of your hand.

You must have heard my coming; I never sought to be unheard. Yet you appear as if you thought yourself alone and undisturbed, and I remain transfixed by you– by this spectacle of your pleasure. My mouth is dry, and I make to swallow, as if I could force down this unspoken need that’s rising within me, making me feel confined in my own skin, bound in twisted and knotted coils of helpless, nameless longing.

I should go.

‘Fíli–’

It’s the sound of this single word, bursting from your lips in a shuddering exhale, that has desire racing through my body like a flame from long-banked embers fanned by a rising wind, fervent and undeniable. Those half a dozen steps across the room are the longest walk I have ever taken, and also the shortest, for where else would I belong, but by your side, however you would have me.

There is little doubt of _how_ you would have me, for when you finally open your eyes to acknowledge my presence, your smile flashes bright and wicked, and I near stumble the last few steps. Your hand, as it comes up to steady me, feels familiar on my arm, feels right. Aching and lost for words, I stand before you until you let your hand fall and drop your gaze to the floor.

 _That_ does not feel right. I speak your name, my voice rough as if from weeks of disuse, and gently brush the hair off your face.

You lean into the touch, then look at me anew, heat sparkling in your dark eyes, and I feel like drowning.

‘You know what I was thinking?’ you say softly. ‘When I called your name?’ You pause for a space of a breath, and I can feel the brush of warm air on my face. ‘Your mouth,’ you say, ‘your mouth around my cock, and how it would feel.’

Without thinking, I drop my gaze, and my breath hitches at the sight of your hardness between us, the moist tip almost grazing at my thigh. ‘Kíli–’ I say, and it’s a plea more than anything.

But this, this is the one time you don’t understand my meaning at half a word.

‘I could be dead tomorrow,’ you say, and there’s a tight seriousness around your mouth that I want to smooth away. ‘Or you could be, or both of us. Tomorrow, or the day after.’

I lay my hands on your shoulders. ‘Kíli, please–’

‘I won’t matter what I thought, or who I wanted, when we’re cold in the stone,’ you insist.

‘Kíli, stop–’

‘If I only have this one day, I want–’

As much as I want to shake you to your senses, I draw you close instead, and press my forehead against yours. ‘I know,’ I say quickly. ‘You don’t need to– I know. It’s the same for me.’ The words fall woefully short of what I would say: that I thought I knew you better than my own heart, yet could not tell we carried the same secret, but it matters little, for you make a soft sound that yanks at my chest, and then I have no time for another thought.

Your mouth is warm and hungry against mine, and your hands are strong and clever as they loosen the fastenings of my armoured coat, and then you’re slipping one leg between mine, and pushing yourself against my thigh, warm and hard even through the cloth, but it’s not nearly enough. You seem to think likewise, for you break the kiss to tug at my shirttails and curse when they won’t leave my trousers fast enough. The curses turn to gasping laughter as I move to kiss your neck.

‘Aglets, Fíli,’ you giggle, and I can feel the thrum of your throat under my lips, and your mirth is contagious.

‘What of them?’ I ask and nuzzle at the soft skin below your ear. You smell of sweat and smoke and dust and the road, but it means nothing next to having your warm racing pulse under my mouth.

‘They’re cold. They tickle.’

I deliberately let the ends of my moustache-braids slip over your skin.

‘Unfair,’ you hiss. ‘Tease.’

My laughter is cut short when you wriggle your hand down my trousers and take a firm grasp of my cock, and I can’t hold back the groan of pleasure at how good it feels.

It so turns out that to hear you whimper my name when I return the favour feels even better. For a brief while the world is distilled down to simple components: the taste of you, the feel of your hands on my skin, the slip and slide of your hard flesh under my fingers, the sounds you make against my mouth.

Then you mutter something half-formed into the kiss, and disentangle yourself from my embrace, tugging at my hand to follow.

It’s but two steps, and I fail to realize your purpose, until you mould your back against the solid wall and draw me close between your legs. Because purchase is good, and I muffle a moan into your shoulder as I roll my hips, my hard length sliding against yours.

You laugh, low and pleased, then whisper into my ear.

‘Want to know what else I was thinking?’ you ask, hitching one leg over my hip, which draws me impossibly closer still. I hum something that I hope is affirmative, and lean one elbow against the wall, slipping my free hand between our bodies.

You gasp when my hand encloses us both, then push back into my grip. ‘I was thinking,’ you go on, ‘how it would be like to have you take me against a wall like this, with my legs hooked around you, and if I could spill untouched from that.’

The words rush through me, shameless in their passion, and my hips jerk up, thrusting hard into the snug warmth between my own hand and your pulsing silken heat. Your breath catches in a ragged moan as you beg me to go faster, and I know you must be close. (That you might have been long in waiting, slowly pulling yourself towards pleasure thinking of me is a heady thought that makes my own cock leap in my hand.)

You fist your hands in my hair and angle my head for a deeper kiss, then break it for air, and offer breathless praise against my mouth right until the moment you arch against me with a rough broken cry, spilling hot over my hand. It’s nearly enough, to have you shivering and panting in my arms, to send me over the edge as well, but not quite.

Then you push me off and shush at my protests, shoving me down onto the bench instead. I think it’s good when you straddle my lap and close your fingers around my cock, already slick with your own release. I think it’s good, but you make it even better.

‘Another thing I would do,’ you say, ‘is ride you like this–’ you rock in time to your hand on me, and hum with delight when I grab your arse with both hands to keep you from falling– ‘until you’d come; and then–’ your firmer squeeze forces a groan from my throat– ‘then I’d roll you over and fuck into you until you wouldn’t remember your own name–’ you slip your other hand behind my stones, and I want you so much, your heated words and nimble hands and bright shameless spirit – and I want to tell you I would know your name long after I forgot my own, but cannot shape the words before I lose myself to you with a shout that echoes in these empty halls of stone.

As we stay there, your head resting on my shoulder, mine on yours, our breaths coming slower, the remains of our pleasure growing cool and sticky on my skin, and neither of us has the will to move or speak, I search my heart for regret, and find none.

There may be a tomorrow, or a day after, when I find it in myself to be ashamed, but here and now, there’s only the joy of having shared in your pleasure, and a strange sort of relief from knowing there’s no going back after that.

No going back, and if there would be a tomorrow where we both live and breathe, I might not want to.


End file.
